The art of adapting
by MissSlothy
Summary: Steve's always been good at adapting. But is this one step too far? This is my contribution to the post 6x25 stories. Hopefully it's now out of my head and I can work on my other stories :). Update - I've added a few more Dannny-centric scenes which don't fit into the main story as an epilogue (chapter four).
1. Chapter 1

As he struggles up to full wakefulness he wonders, not for the first time, why he's never replaced his Dad's old couch. Most of the padding's long gone and there's a particularly vicious spring digging into his left hip.

Stifling a groan he stretches carefully, slowly shifting off his left hand side, waiting for the now familiar stabs of pain to ease. Yep, crashing out on the couch had been a really bad idea. But the physio session that morning had been particularly brutal. By the time he'd survived the cab ride home, he'd been wiped out and all he's been able to do since is sleep.

Sleep is all he seems to be able to do these days.

In his head he can hear Danny's voice arguing with him, telling him, quite rightly, that if he'd waited for one of the team to give him a ride home he wouldn't be feeling so bad right now. That asking for help isn't a weakness. That some things were going to have to change.

It's an argument they've been having for six weeks since the accident, like a record on a constant loop.

That and the fact that he shouldn't abuse his newly growing liver that Danny had looked after so carefully for thirty-nine years.

It's that last point that finally was the tipping point, that pushed them from their usual arguments into a full blown row three nights ago. He'd been tired and aching, his body refusing to do even the simplest things. No doubt Danny had been feeling the same. Chin, Lou and Kono had calmed things down but the last few days have been strained.

Taking a deep breath he pushes himself to his feet. He'd never abuse his body and he's insulted Danny thinks he would. Sure, he takes calculated risks in his job but in order to do that he needs his body to work at an optimum level. So when Danny had insulted him, and in that second it felt like that's what he did, he'd seen red.

Bright red, breath robbing, heart thumping, blinding anger.

The memory makes him wince.

Straightening up gradually, he feels his spine pop back into line. Asking for help isn't a weakness either. He knows that with all his heart - he would never have made it through the last six weeks without his ohana. Without Grace and Charlie making him smile when all he's wanted to do is hide in a dark corner without people prodding, or questioning or telling him how things have got to change.

He would never had made it without Danny.

Danny.

He knows too that Danny is constantly worrying. About his health, about Charlie's. About how things are going to change. He knows this is always how Danny is, how he was before the shooting, how he will always be. He wishes he could go back and change it though, not insist on going undercover, not put his best friend's life at risk. But wishing won't get him better.

The sound of car tyres on the driveway break him out of his thoughts. Swearing under his breath he looks at his watch, disappointment curling low in his gut. He's lost hours again, exhaustion robbing him of his plans. It's not the first time it's happened and he understands why it won't be the last, that it's part of the healing process. But that doesn't stop his hands curling into fists of frustration.

Outside he can hear his friends' voices, coming over for dinner like they'd promised the day before. It's a ritual now, this constant checking up on him. He loves them for it, for their warmth, for the way they fill his house after a long, long day. But a small part, a very small part, just wishes sometimes they'd all just fuck off back the way they came.

Switching off the TV, he plasters a smile on his face. They bundle through the door without knocking, grocery bags in their hands. There are questions about their day and good natured ribbing about lazy bosses who sit around on the couch all day watching TV. He lets it flow around him, letting it seep in, easing the aching pains away.

And in the background he can see Danny. Danny who is joining in the conversation with a smile but has never felt further away. His friend's smile slips as he catches his gaze, his lip turning down as he frowns.

Arguing isn't something he's got the energy for tonight. And more to the point it'll spoil the good mood he works so hard to maintain when they're over so he heads into the kitchen and starts sorting through the grocery bags. It's part of the routine they've got into - the first week he'd been out of the hospital he hadn't been able to do much more than watch. Now the last few days he's been cooking. Simple stuff. Nothing fancy. But he tells himself it's the least he can do.

Behind him though he can tell Danny is watching from the doorway. This is where they argued before. A quick glance over his shoulder tells him they're probably heading that way again. Tight lipped, his friend is following his every move like a hawk.

He knows what Danny can see, it's not like he hasn't looked in a mirror recently. Losing a few pounds and his normal muscle tone has made his cheeks look hollow, magnifying the dark shadows under his eyes. But Danny doesn't look much better even though he's been out of the hospital for much longer. It reminds him that this dinner his friends have supplied isn't just for his benefit so he turns back to concentrate instead on preparing the food.

Behind him, he hears Danny push himself away from the door frame with a loud huff. Bristling, he tenses his shoulders, preparing himself for a fight. It's not what he wants but the deep disappointment that's been hanging over him since he woke up is morphing into anger and Danny's the only person he can trust to take that anger and throw it back where it belongs.

He waits, breathing deeply, but the first blow never comes. Instead there's the sound of shuffling, then cupboard doors opening and closing as Danny puts away the groceries they don't need for dinner. The warm familiarity of it takes his breath away. The relief that not everything has to change is overwhelming.

Danny's sharp intake of breath destroys the moment.

With a sigh of his own he turns, already knowing what he'll see. Danny's got the cupboard nearest the door open, the cupboard he emptied out the first day he'd got back from the hospital.

On the bottom shelf he's got all his medications lined up. On each one he's attached a label, describing the contents and what they do. He's never abused his body and although he knows he's got to take them he's going to be damn sure he knows what he's putting inside himself.

On the next shelf he's neatly stacked all the pamphlets and books that he's collected about his condition. To be honest Danny had given him most of them, leaving them lying around when he'd refused to take them himself. He sees the moment that Danny recognises them, his hand drifting up to sift through the first few items on the pile, his eyebrows rising as he sees all the extra handwritten notes he's added.

It's the final item that makes him cringe though, the horribly visible reminder of how far he's still got to go. On the inside of the door is a weekly calendar. Alongside the many doctor and therapist appointments there's a list of daily tasks that he's supposed to achieve, each one ticked off in bright red pen.

He'd argued with his therapist and physio when they'd insisted on putting the list together before discharging him. He's a Navy SEAL for god's sake (or at least he is at the moment - there's an entry on his calendar in a month's time for an appointment at Pearl-Hickham that he's refusing to think about). He's an expert at adapting to any situation. Walking a few extra minutes every day and rewarding himself with a tick had seemed deeply insulting.

Beside the neatly written targets he's scribbled in some extra targets of his own. Taking out the trash, cooking dinner, taking a cab to an appointment or doing the laundry aren't exactly exciting but they're normal. In the midst of people invading his privacy, even invading his body, he needs something that's his.

Silently he wills his friend to understand this. He's not been hiding from what's been happening. He's been adapting the only way he knows how. He can see this doesn't look good though, this cupboard where he's effectively locked away his medical condition, to be taken out and examined only when he feels like it.

Danny doesn't say anything though, his attention still focused on the calendar. Sucking on his bottom lip, he runs his finger down the list, obviously deep in thought. All the tasks are ticked so far, apart from the one for today.

'Get groceries from the store'.

Two weeks ago it had seemed like such a stupidly easy task to add. Six weeks ago, before the accident, he'd have run to the store and back in ten minutes. Today he'd fallen asleep just thinking about how he was going to get there.

Humiliation is what he's feeling as Danny's gaze moves from the list, to the groceries and then finally back to him. Total and utter humiliation.

Silently he watches as Danny quietly closes the cupboard, briefly resting his forehead against the door before slowly turning round. "You're an idiot, you know that, right?"

"Danny..." That's all he's got he realises, unable to get the rest of the words past the lump in his throat. If Danny doesn't get this he has no idea what he's supposed to do next. His friend is the one who always saves him.

Danny raises his hand, signalling for silence. "Hey Lou, you got a second?" he shouts out through the door, dropping his hand as Lou appears, filling the doorway. "Can you take this big lug to the store for me?" he continues, with a long-suffering roll of his eyes. "I'm still grounded and the chef here thinks we need some fancy noodles or something."

Lou slow blinks at both of them in turn, his brain obviously struggling to process the random request. His own brain isn't doing much better and he panics when they both turn their stares towards him. "Iron Chef reruns," he offers weakly, nodding back towards the living room and the TV. "Thought I'd try something new tonight."

Lou eyes them both suspiciously but obediently disappears, appearing several minutes later with car keys and the hated crutches that he still needs to go anywhere outside the house. As Lou heads out the door he tucks the crutches under his arms and slowly shuffles out. Common sense suggests he's too tired to make this trip and he'll probably faceplant into his dinner from exhaustion but it's going to be worth it - he feels like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders.

He feels even better when Danny shakes his head, mock serious. His eyes though are brimming with laughter. "Iron Chef reruns?" he asks incredulously, "You goof."

Goof is a good description for him he thinks, standing in the middle of the kitchen with a big grin on his face. He can't find it in himself to care though as he watches Danny open the cupboard again to retrieve the red pen and tick his target for the day.

For the first time in days he can see a light at the end of the tunnel. He's got Danny back beside him: the man who traveled thousands of miles so he could set up home near his daughter, who thought he'd lost one child only to get him back years later, the man who took on the challenge of being his partner and all the bullshit that included.

Danny, who is also an expert in the art of adapting.

For the first time since the shooting he really believes what the rest of his ohana has been telling him.

He really isn't going to have to do this on his own.


	2. Chapter 2

"I'm not a SEAL any more."

In the back of his mind he vaguely acknowledges that those words shouldn't slip out of mouth so easily. That years of service to his country shouldn't be so easily dismissed by one piece of paper.

His therapist is watching him closely though, eyes narrowed as he considers his answer. They've come to know each other well over the last three months though, or better that he's let any other therapist get to know him. Henry, his therapist, is ex-military too, with a wealth of experience on the front line that means he doesn't have to spell everything out to him.

Which is good. Because he really doesn't feel like talking.

Ex-military. He runs that phrase around in his head, licks his lips, tastes the words on the tip of his tongue. They taste bitter. Like gun powder residue or blood they are tastes that linger, that bring up bad memories unbidden, pushing away the positiv

e vibes he's been working so hard to surround himself with.

"Steve?"

Blinking, he forces himself to focus. "Sorry? Did you ask me something?"

"I asked you how you felt about your medical discharge from the Navy." Henry doesn't miss a beat and he's reminded again why he likes this guy. If this was the Governor's appointed psychiatrist she would be trying to coo him into submission now (Danny's words, not his).

God, he wishes Danny was here now. Danny, with his words and his hands, would be able to deflect the questions he really doesn't want to answer.

"Steve?"

Taking a deep breath he pushes down the feeling of nausea that's been his constant companion since his meeting with the Admiral at Pearl Hickham three days before. Head down, he pretends not to notice as Henry pushes a glass of water into his line of vision. Grateful for the distraction he takes a sip, forcing himself to look up and smile in thanks as he considers the question.

So how does he feel?

"It wasn't a surprise," he offers truthfully. It wasn't. A desk job was always going to be the best offer and that would have been a compromise he wouldn't have been able to accept. Despite still wearing the uniform it would have meant he was unfit to perform the job he'd loved, that he was of no use to the SEALs, the teams he'd given his life to.

Taking another gulp of water, he stuffs the taste of bitterness down deep. He's still alive he reminds himself. He's one of the lucky ones.

"What did your friends say when you told them?"

Henry's leaning forward, hands on his knees and suddenly he can hear alarm bells going off in his head. They've discussed Danny, Chin, Kono and the rest of the team at nearly every session. It was difficult not to when one of them had to drive him there every week. And they've played a huge part in his recovery. Love is what he feels when he thinks of his team. He's not ashamed to admit that.

"Steve? You okay?"

He's too ashamed to tell them about his dismissal from the SEALs though.

The thought pops unbidden into his mind, catching him like a blow. Instinctively he wraps his arm protectively around his middle. Everything he is, everything he is proud of is based on his identity as a SEAL.

It's like he's sixteen again, a nothing, a nobody, with nowhere to go. The feeling of loneliness is crushing.

Henry's hand appears in his vision again, this time with a tissue. He stares blindly at it, blinking against the moisture coating his eyelashes.

He's one of the lucky ones he tells himself, repeating the words over and over like a protective mantra. Without Danny he would never have made it.

He can't feel like this. It's not fair on his friend.

He doesn't realise he's spoken those last words out loud until Henry swaps couches to sit beside him. "It's normal to feel like that," he encourages quietly. "Danny made a huge sacrifice for you. But you feel like he's put a huge responsibility on your shoulders too."

"No." He blurts the word out, surprising himself at the sudden anger he feels on behalf of his friend.

"So you don't blame him?"

"For what?" he shoots back, his lips twisting in anger as he turns to look Henry in the eye. "For saving my life?"

He's used this tactic on lesser men and watched them cower. Henry though doesn't flinch. "Do you?"

"Of course not!"

"Then tell me what you're angry about."

Henry's voice is so low that he has to strain to hear it over the sound of his own harsh breathing. A tissue is crushed in his fist. "Henry..."

"The first words that come into your head, Steve. Any order, it doesn't matter. Just say them."

Just say them.

Taking several deep breathes he forces himself to think about Henry's request. With difficulty he focuses on the noise in his head, on the swirling anger that's robbing him of his control.

He can do this. It's one of the first things they taught them in the SEALs, how to control anger, how to bring order to the most challenging of situations.

Except he's not a SEAL anymore.

"They're trying to help," he offers hesitantly, picking out the words from the red hot molten flow of anger and laying them out in front of him where he can see them in the cold light of day. "I couldn't have done this without them," he offers a moment later, grateful that Henry's watching silently, giving him space to think. He's not sure he's going to like where this is going but he understands it needs to be done. "They're worried about me...but...I..."

Betrayal. That's what the next words feel like and he falters, not sure he can say them, not even in this place with Henry. He'll adapt, he always does. He doesn't need to do this, to betray his friends like this.

"Steve." Henry's prompt is gentle but insistent. It's something he can't ignore.

"They don't think I can do my job any more," he confesses finally, swallowing hard against the physical pain the words cause him.

"Are you sure about that?"

"They won't let me do anything on my own anymore." He blinks again, surprised at the bitterness he suddenly feels. "The Navy doesn't think I can do my job anymore," he adds, surprising himself again at how quickly the words are coming now he's started. "What's the point of being here if I can't do my job?"

"You really think your friends think that?

"Christ, no," he answers, visibly forcing himself to rein back against the anger that's threatening to bubble over.

"But that still makes you feel angry?"

"Of course it does! I'm a fucking Navy SEAL!"

He doesn't realise he's trembling until Henry gently places his hand on his shoulder, grounding him. Heaving in gulps of air he focuses on his hands, forcing them to still.

They sit like that for a while longer until Henry rises from his seat, gently pushing the box of tissues back into his sphere of vision. "Take as long as you need," he offers. "I'll be outside."

Taking a long, halting breath, he forces himself to look up, to nod his thanks. Right now he's feeling every scar on his body, like he's been in a physical fight. But he knows this is going to help.

Henry nods back, then hesitates at the door. It's the first time he's seen the man look uncertain and he finds himself leaning forward, knowing that whatever comes next will be important.

"Don't forget, you'll always be a Navy SEAL."


	3. Chapter 3

By the time the taxi pulls up outside his house he feels wiped out, more exhausted than he has felt for weeks.

The last thing he wants to see is Grover's truck parked on his driveway.

For a moment he considers telling the driver not to stop. Instead he pays up and gets out, pulling himself out of the back of the cab with a long, tired sigh.

He's not surprised to find his front door is wide open.

"You can tell Danny I'm changing the security code," he spits out, scowling at Grover as he heads for the kitchen.

Grover watches from his position in his Dad's old leather recliner. "Why don't you tell him yourself?"

The question's innocent enough but he's not stupid. There's an edge to his friend's voice. A very sharp edge. He's being poked with a sharp stick and he doesn't like it.

Not today.

Not when Henry's already poked him, prised the lid off, made him spill his own guts.

At least that's what this feels like, this raw feeling inside. This anger was nameless before, something he'd adapted to, locked away in the cupboard with the drugs and the medical notes he knows off by heart.

Now it's got a face, a meaning. He's not proud of himself today.

It's probably a good thing he's not a SEAL any more.

He shakes his head angrily at himself, frustrated at the way his brain keeps leading him down this black hole.

"You okay in there?"

Leaning against the kitchen sink, he closes his eyes, forces in several deep breaths, focuses on the cold surface under his fingertips. In the background he can hear the squeak of the recliner, feels his heartbeat quicken as Grover's footsteps come closer.

"Steve?"

Compassion is all he can hear in Grover's voice now. It's almost too much.

Opening his eyes he stares down into the sink, willing his heart to slow. "I'm fine."

His friend stops beside him, leans back, his spine against the work surface. Without twisting sideways they can't make eye contact. That's just fine with him.

"Okay. Let's just pretend for a second that's true," Grover offers, his conversational tone not fooling either of them, "you want to tell me why you haven't spoken to any of us in three days? You had to know we'd be worried."

"So now you can go back and tell them I'm alive." The words are out before he can stop them. Bitter. Sharp. Instantly he wants them back. But Grover's words had felt like salt on a raw wound, a reminder of everything he'd confessed to Henry.

They don't trust him. He's not needed. There's no point in him being here any more.

It's like being back in the therapist's office again, the wash of emotions hitting him hard, making him blink. A few days on his own is all he'd wanted. A few days to get his head around his dismissal from the Navy, to understand what Henry had told him, to understand that it was alright to be angry, to adapt, to move on. That's all he'd wanted. A few days without anyone watching him.

Now they won't even give him that.

Beside him he can feel Grover shifting his feet. There's a part of him that wants to apologise, to explain that this isn't him talking, that he can't do this on his own. A bigger part though is just relieved that he's going.

He braces himself for the sound of footsteps, of the front door being slammed shut, confirmation that he's really fucked this up.

Instead he hears the scrape of chair legs on the kitchen floor. Grateful, he takes a deep breath and forces himself to turn.

"You look like crap, McGarrett."

"Thanks." Forcing his legs to work he takes a seat for himself.

"We know about your meeting at Pearl Hickham," Grover offers finally, breaking the uncomfortable silence that's fallen over them. "You want to tell me what happened?"

Danny. Danny and that damn calendar. For a moment he wishes he'd never shown it to him. Knowing his friend he'd memorised the whole thing on sight. He's probably been mentally ticking off every appointment and target, worrying about every single milestone. And all the time he's had his own recovery to worry about as well.

And he'd just cut him off.

Just like that.

What the hell had he been thinking?

"Shit." Rubbing his hands over his face, he stares blindly at the kitchen table. Shame is what he's feeling now, not anger. Gut churning shame.

"Yeah," Grover agrees with a tired sigh, as if he's been reading his mind. "Danny's been climbing up the walls. But he thought we should give you some space, so we did."

Grover pauses, studying him closely and he feels his heart sink. Over the last few years they've grown to know each other well, shared secrets that they haven't wanted to burden those closest to them with. There's never any judgement between them.

Rubbing his face again, he runs his hands through his hair before pulling himself up straight. Henry's right, he needs to talk about this.

So he does.

Once he's finished, he pushes himself up from the chair, runs himself a glass of water. Focuses, breathes. It hadn't been any easier saying it the second time. Talking to Henry, it had turned out, was easier than looking his friend in the eye and telling him he feels useless because his team insists on helping him. How not being a SEAL means he's lost his purpose.

How all of this is really Danny's fault.

He gulps down the water, placing the empty glass carefully in the sink before turning. He's not sure what to expect from Grover. Anger perhaps (which he deserves and can deal with) or pity maybe (which he knows he won't be able to deal with at all).

What he doesn't expect is understanding. It floors him for a second, the expression in Grover's eyes. He actually understands.

"When everything went to hell in Chicago," Grover starts, nodding at him to take his seat again, "for a while there I blamed Renee-"

"Lou-"

"I blamed Renee because that morning before work we'd had an argument. Don't ask me what it was about - taking out the trash or some dumbass thing. Anyhow, in my head I kept telling myself that if we hadn't argued that morning my mind would have been on the job, I would have made different decisions. That things would have turned out different."

He feels his heart clench as his friend looks away, lost in his memories. "Nobody would have died."

"Yeah." Grover's nodding as he turns back to him but he can hear the deep regret in his voice, understands the words that are sitting between them, unspoken.

Sometimes things just happen.

There is no one to blame.

Deep down he understands that. His whole life has been built on accepting that bad things can just happen, that you adapt, that you move on.

But this is Danny they're talking about. He deserves more from him than just 'moving on'. "What did Renee say when you told her?"

"Nothing." Grover's back with him now, his expression intense as he leans across the kitchen table. "I never told her."

The confession floors him. Frowning, he struggles to understand how that helps at all. There's all these words in his head, all this noise, and it's making him angry and he needs to _tell_ Danny so, _so_ , much.

"You can't, Steve." Grover's expression is still intense but there's a hint of sympathy too, a softening around the edges that shows he understands what's going on inside his head. "She already knew. She'd already been blaming herself, wondered what would have happened if she'd done things differently. Me talking about it would have only made it worse."

He opens his mouth to argue, to point out that it's not the same, that he and Danny aren't married but he already knows the truth. Danny's been blaming himself for months already. There's nothing he can say to Danny that Danny hasn't already said to himself.

He looks away to the cupboard, the one where he keeps his notes and his calendar and the pills that help to keep him alive. The calendar that is now decorated with Danny's scrawl as well, a written history of how his best friend has helped him make it through the last few months.

Licking his lips, he chooses his next words carefully, still not sure how to express himself, despite all Henry's hard work. "Some days I just want to hit something you know," he says quietly, keeping his eyes down. "You know, really hit something, until I can't hit it any more. I feel like I'm going to explode, Lou. And that scares the hell out of me."

"Then that's the days you call me. We had a deal remember?" Grover's hand appears in his line of vision and grips his wrist, squeezing once before disappearing again. "Or you call that therapist. He sounds like he knows what he's talking about."

"He does." Huffing out a breath, he consider's Lou's advice. The last thing Danny needs now is more guilt on his shoulders. That had never been his intention, he'd just needed someone to talk to, to understand. And Danny's always been the only one he's trusted to translate what's going on in his head.

He's been too wrapped up in his own misery to realise that Danny needs his help too. Lifting his shoulders he lets out his breath in one loud whoosh. Risking a look upwards, he drags up a weak smile. "So what happens next?"

He feels his level of nervousness rise again as Grover considers him, his head tilted to one side. "What happens next," he says finally, a faint smile finally appearing on his face, "is that I go back to the office and tell everyone you need a few more days."

He nods, gratefully. "But?"

"You need to keep in touch with us, McGarrett. No argument," he continues, raising his hand when he opens his mouth to do just that. " _We_ need this. _Danny_ needs it."

He nods once. He should never have gone off the radar like that. He's broken that promise to Danny too many times.

They are both distracted when Grover's cell phone starts vibrating. His friend looks at him apologetically before getting up and it's on the tip of his tongue to ask what's going on. Asking wouldn't be fair though.

They're standing out by Grover's truck before his friend speaks again. "You know, it was only a few weeks ago that I was carrying your sorry arse around that damn grocery store."

"I was walking," he shoots back defensively although he can't stop a smile breaking out. By the time they'd made it to the checkout there had been more dragging than limping going on. The rest of the evening had just been lost in a blur of pain and exhaustion.

He'd bought the groceries though.

"What I'm saying is that you're getting better. All this stuff up here," Grover explains, tapping his head, "this is all happening because your brain has got more time to think."

"I know that-"

"Then stop being so hard on yourself. You're still gonna have some bad days when just getting out of bed is a win. Accept it. Move on. In a few months time you'll be back with Five-O and all the criminals on this island will be wishing you'd never made it out of that plane."

H50 H50 H50 H50 H50 H50 H50

When he wakes up the next morning the idea of ever chasing criminals across the island again seems like a distant dream. Exhausted the night before he'd gone to bed early but his brain had refused to switch off, leaving him tossing and turning all night.

He forces himself out of bed though, wincing against the aches that always seem worse when he's tired. It's a win, Grover's voice reminds him and he allows himself a small smile as he uses his cell phone to take a picture of his bare feet against the dark hardwood floor.

Focusing on just functioning he forgets that he'd hit send until an hour later when his phone pings impatiently at him. Opening up his text he nearly chokes on his oatmeal at the sight of six pairs of bare feet, neatly lined up around the Five-O shield on the floor at Headquarters.

Abby and Kono's beautifully painted toes are easy to identify as are Danny's smaller feet. He's on the verge of texting to ask what the hell Danny is doing in the office when he's still on leave when his phone pings again, telling him he's got an email.

It's a gift certificate from a local beauty salon.

Apparently he's going to have beautifully manicured toes too.

After that he sends them pictures every day. It's like a challenge, trying to make each picture better than the last. Laundry and trash don't make good photographic subjects so he travels further afield. Shave ice and beach shots get added to his phone.

Only once does he manage to screw things up. Standing at the top of his favourite running trail he takes a picture that has Danny sending him multiple texts with scowling emojis. A follow up text with a picture of the taxi he'd used to take him up to the public parking area stops the furious outpouring of emotion.

But he makes sure not to make the same mistake again.

It's a week after his talk with Grover and another appointment with Henry before he feels confident enough to send the picture he's been planning for days. Mixing up two fruit smoothies in the blender he takes them down to the beachfront, putting them on the table before kneeling in the sand to snap a picture.

Pushing himself to his feet he takes a deep breath and hits send.

He tells himself he's not nervous, that he's only cleaning the kitchen again because it's dirty. Despite the fact he's already cleaned it once today.

Finally, _finally_ , he hears the sound of the Camaro pulling up in the driveway.

It's one of the best sounds he's ever heard.


	4. Chapter 4 - Epilogue

Over the next week and a half Grover finds himself relaxing more. Sure they're all still a little on edge, a little raw, still hanging out together more often to reassure each other that they are all still in one piece.

The term 'one piece' is all relative but Steve's texts each day gradually lift a weight off their shoulders.

Even Kono's smiling a little more often, sharing the pictures with Adam during her visits, making plans for a big beach party when he gets out. Plans that involve Steve and swimming and surfing and things that a few months ago they very nearly didn't have.

And Danny?

Danny's the one who reads the texts out first, who painstakingly taps out the answers. He's the one who suggests sending the picture of their feet, of purchasing the voucher, who grumbles at every picture like his partner is standing right by his side.

Danny is the one who goes back to his office afterwards and thumbs through the messages, reading them again and again, like there's some secret message hidden between the lines.

And Danny's the one who turns up for work one morning, a wide grin on his face, complaining about benched, impatient ex-SEALs who lure him into their home and force him to drink healthy, disgusting tasting smoothies.

Normality is almost restored.

Until Steve gets cleared for work.

H50h50h50

With hindsight, Grover thinks, all the signs were there on Steve's first day back at work. Restricted to desk duties his friend might be but he's still buzzing with energy, bouncing up and down on his toes. Everyone in the precinct welcomes him back like a retuning hero and he soaks it all in, his expression more alive and animated than Grover has seen for weeks.

Danny just looks like he's been handed an unexploded bomb.

H50h50h50h50

On day three they track down a suspect they want to question at an old derelict office building. Steve comes along for the ride because, as he points out, it's only strenuous activity he's been banned from doing and sitting in the car like Miss Daisy really doesn't count.

Danny had taken the news quietly. Too quietly, Grover thinks, looking back. Even Steve had been surprised, his mouth opening and closing in shocked surprise as his partner had just nodded and waved him towards the car.

So now he, Danny, Chin and Kono are getting ready to enter the derelict office. Risking one last glance over his shoulder he can see Steve leaning against the Camaro parked across the street, arms crossed, shades on.

The whole thing just doesn't feel right.

It's not right.

"Which part of 'no strenuous activity" did you not understand, Steven?" Danny's asking a quarter of an hour later. 'Demanding', Grover corrects mentally, standing with Kono and Chin a safe distance away from the argument that's brewing.

Steve shifts slightly, eliciting a groan from the perp that he's got pinned to the ground. "He was running for it, Danny," Steve shoots back, looking up to meet his partner's gaze. 'What was I supposed to do, let him escape?"

"You were supposed to just sit and wait." Fists curled, Danny looks like he's grinding his teeth.

His blue eyes are full of fear.

Steve pulls the perp to his feet, his body language radiating disappointment.

H50h50h5oH50

The next morning Steve brings in a huge box of masaladas. From Danny's favourite bakery, Grover notes. It's obvious their boss is making an effort, despite the fact he can't really eat the cakes himself.

They all try not to notice how notice nervous Steve looks when Danny finally appears but heads straight for his office, a tired scowl on his face.

"McGarrett, please tell me you paid for these?"

Danny's head pops out of his office. Chewing slowly, his front teeth on display, he already has sugar dotted all over his face.

Collectively they let out a sigh of relief.

H50H50h50h50

The next few days are just like old times.

So it's unfortunate, Grover reflects after the event, that their next case takes them to the Hilton Hawaiian Village Resort.

He can feel their tension levels rising as they thread their way through the guests sitting by the pools. Danny seems oblivious to the guests at all, his eyes constantly drawn to the beach on the other side of the wall.

Steve just seems oblivious.

"Only thirty-eight more days," he's saying to Kono, referring to Adam's release date. 'Hey, maybe we should have the party here?" he adds, his eyes hungrily tracking the waves that he's not allowed to go near right now. "What do you think, Danny?"

"Maybe not, Steve," Chin's jumping in but it's already too late. Danny's hunching his shoulders, his whole body an angry ball of frustration. Glaring at his partner he's obviously struggling to know what to say. Instead he turns and strides away, with Chin and Kono close behind.

Grover feels himself glaring too. That idea had been insensitive, even for McGarrett. "You do know that's where the plane crashed," he bites out, not bothering to hide the sarcasm he's feeling as he points across the wall to the beach.

Steve follows the direction he's pointing. "I read the reports," he mutters, almost too quiet for Grover to hear.

"But you saw the pictures, right?" he pushes as warning bells start going off in his head. "Danny's told you what happened?"

"Not much," Steve confirms his deepest fears, his friend's pained expression telling Grover everything he needs to know about how that conversation went.

They stand both lost in thought for a few moments until suddenly McGarrett levers himself over the dividing wall, landing on the sand on the other side with a loud huff.

"Show me, Lou."

He's off and moving, weaving his way through the sunbathers, before Grover realises he wants him to tell him about the plane crash.

There's nothing left on the sand to show what happened but it will be etched in his mind for ever. With less agility he climbs over the wall and follows McGarrett, cursing as he has to run to keep up with his friend.

The sight of two armed men on the beach is enough to get the bathers moving and suddenly they find themselves alone. It's not exactly where the crash happened but as McGarrett slowly gets to his knees and runs his fingers through the sand he guesses it doesn't really matter.

Slowly he sits down beside him. And then he tells McGarrett about the crash. About the desperate drive to the airport and the diversion to the beach when they knew they weren't going to make it, about air traffic control's instructions for his partner to crash the plane into the sea and Danny's refusal to leave Steve behind.

And he tells Steve how he'd prayed as the medical teams had worked on him. He'd prayed that he wouldn't lose one of his ohana because he knew Danny wouldn't be able to carry on without him.

Steve listens to him in silence. Staring out to sea, just his lips move occasionally, his eyes narrowed in thought. As his head moves slightly, as if tracking an invisible object across the sky, he realises what his friend is doing.

Speed.

Trajectory.

Impact.

He's replaying the flight in his head.

Steve's body flinches, his hands clenching in the sand as the enormity of the crash they survived suddenly hits him.

Quietly Grover gets to his feet and leaves his friend with his thoughts.

H50H50H50

It's a relief the next morning when Danny announces he has a doctor's appointment which will keep him out of the office for most of the day.

"Keep him out of trouble," is the last thing he says as he leaves, barely sparing a glance towards his partner's office.

As Steve hasn't come out of his own office all morning, keeping him out of trouble shouldn't be a problem, Grover thinks.

His optimism doesn't last long.

"Hey, where you going?" he finds himself asking twenty minutes later when McGarrett appears, shrugging a shirt over his tee, obviously intent on going out. "Did we catch a case?"

"I'm going over to Halava," he replies, not breaking stride. "I've got an appointment to see Dae Won."

It takes Grover a minute to remember the name and McGarrett's out the door before he gets it. "Isn't that the guy who was in the plane with Steve and Danny?" he asks Chin instead, pushing into his office without knocking first. "I thought we'd closed that case?"

Rubbing his face tiredly, Chin stares through the glass, at the way Steve has just gone. "I don't think he's going to ask him about the drugs, Lou."

His words are one long sigh.

H50H50H50h50

Deciding to get an early start the next morning, he's surprised to hear voices in McGarrett's office. Determined not to eavesdrop he keeps walking but suddenly he's stopped in his tracks.

What he can hear is the conversation between Danny and the air traffic controller. The moment when Danny refused to ditch the plane.

A cold shiver of panic runs down his spine as the conversation stops and then starts again. It's like replaying the nightmare in his brain: again and again and again.

Reluctantly, he edges towards Steve's office and looks through the half-closed blinds.

His friend is hunched over his laptop.

He looks absolutely wrecked.

H50h50h50

He doesn't get much sleep that night. He keeps replaying his conversation with Steve over and over in his head, the conversation where he tells his friend not to share with Danny his thoughts about the flight.

The fallout.

The blame.

The next morning he asks Kono and Chin for their advice.

They're five minutes into a conversation, talking about how their friends are hurting, how they both need a chance to talk, when a call comes through from HPD despatch and they find themselves out on a case.

Two meth-heads in a derelict house. One's a suspected murderer and the other has been dealing to the local college population.

It's a normal day for Five-O.

Or at least that's what Grover tells himself as they prepare themselves for a joint raid with the HPD SWAT team.

Steve's leading operations, safely ensconced with the SWAT operations team further down the road. He, Danny, Chin and Kono are armed and ready with the SWAT team, just waiting for the word to go.

Which is why he doesn't expect one of the SWAT team to politely tap him on the shoulder, just as they are waiting to go in.

"You need to get out of here. Your boss is about to put a canister of tear gas in the air conditioning unit," the SWAT team member supplies helpfully.

"What the hell-" is the first thought that springs to his mind. But Danny is already moving, a furious ball of rage. Before he knows what he's doing Grover is following him, sending Kono and Chin an apologetic look as he races after the smaller man.

In the background he can hear coughing and swearing and the sound of automatic gunfire as the SWAT team take advantage of having the upper hand.

In front of him he can see Steve climbing down the side of the building, a wide grin plastered across his face. And Danny striding towards him, like an avenging angel on a mission to put the world to rights.

For a moment he vaguely considers letting them argue this out. This moment that they've been working towards ever since Steve took those bullets, inadvertently saving Danny's life but potentially sacrificing his instead.

The moment where they placed an impossible burden on each other's shoulders.

The moment where they showed forever they'd do anything to protect each other's lives.

Instead he stands back and watches as Danny catches up with his partner, his arms windmilling as his anger grows louder, weeks of frustration exploding in one final moment.

Instead he stands back and watches as Steve pulls his partner into a bone crushing, all-encompassing hug, silencing his anger as he pulls him against his Kevlar vest.

"It's okay, Danno," he hears him whisper. 'it's okay, buddy, we're gonna make it, I promise."

THE END


End file.
